<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Somewhere, dreaming of him by LydeNicoKITE</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25401154">Somewhere, dreaming of him</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydeNicoKITE/pseuds/LydeNicoKITE'>LydeNicoKITE</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>no feeling is final (short stories) -2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble, Dreams, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, nicky is a catholic therefore he has issues, slight au where they keep dreaming of each other after they meet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:41:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>798</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25401154</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydeNicoKITE/pseuds/LydeNicoKITE</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>While he sleeps, he sees his enemy awake, waiting for the sun to rise, and it’s incredible how it’s the same sky, it’s the same land, it’s the same sun that greets them every morning. They are so far apart, yet Nicolò tries to list what makes them the same. Aren’t they all God’s creatures?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>no feeling is final (short stories) -2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839736</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>127</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Somewhere, dreaming of him</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>You may have read this on tumblr, or maybe not. Please tell me what you think?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I keep having dreams, they feel like premonitions.”</p>
<p>His confessions have started to begin always in the same way, just like the dreams he keeps having, visions that relives every time he closes his eyes and lets his mind wander. Sometimes, he closes his eyes and there are two women, fighting together, but more often there’s only the man he’s started to think of the enemy. Not because he hates him, not because they really have anything personal against each other, they don’t even know the other’s name, but because the enemy has become more than just another soldier on the opposite side of the Holy War.</p>
<p>They keep meeting. Every time there’s a fight, Nicolò knows if the other man is there too, even before he finds him. He can feel when the enemy (he secretly longs to know his name, even if he can’t admit it, not even to his confessor) is nearby, helping his fellow soldiers when people inevitably start to die. When it’s bad, they fight and kill until they are the last two men standing. Nicolò has killed the other man many times, trying to find a way to end <i>this</i>, whatever this is, but it’s always the same story. His sword meets the flesh, the blood of the enemy stains his hands and the blade. He looks in his enemy’s eyes, he holds the man’s face as the breath of life finally leaves his features. There are usually a few seconds of doubt, of worry, even. <i>Is this really it? Are you dead, my enemy?</i> </p>
<p>Then, the other man relives in his arms. His eyes open, finding Nicolò’s with a hint of relief, of defiance, of anger. Nicolò used to hate him. Now, he just feels like they owe each other something, but he doesn’t know what he has to do to go back to the beginning, when he had no connection to the other man. (The enemy killed him more times than he can count. At first, he prayed before losing consciousness. Now, he waits for the dark eyes that he’s gonna see as soon as he wakes up again, his wounds healed miraculously, according to the Lord’s will.)</p>
<p>“God can often send us signs.” his confessor’s voice breaks the flow of his thoughts, a sequence of feelings and memories he relieves many times a day in the same order, like a rosary.</p>
<p>“I dream of having the blood of our enemies on my hands.”</p>
<p>It’s not a lie. His hands are bloody when he holds the other man to the ground, when he slits his throat with a knife, when they meet and they’ve already fought for hours but still they have energy left to raise their blades, to make them clash at the end of powerful arcs through the air. But these are not dreams, they are memories. When he dreams, he sees his enemy sleeping, praying, singing softly, drawing. While he sleeps, he sees his enemy awake, waiting for the sun to rise, and it’s incredible how it’s the same sky, it’s the same land, it’s the same sun that greets them every morning. They are so far apart, yet Nicolò tries to list what makes them the same. Aren’t they all God’s creatures?</p>
<p>“That is good. It is our duty to recover the Holy Land from the infidels. But I see your eyes when we pray, Nicolò. I see the shadows that hide behind them. What troubles you?”</p>
<p>“Sometimes, I find myself wondering... if words could...”</p>
<p>He can’t find the words. His confessor is also his general, his eyes are kind in this moment but are usually gray and cold and merciless. Nicolò knows his thoughts are unholy. He can’t say that he wishes to know his enemy’s name, that when they’re both sleeping and they meet in dreams and look at each other, it feels like the distance between them is less than two steps, that crossing those steps would be a liberation, rather than the damnation of his soul.</p>
<p>“I sometimes find myself missing home, that is all.”</p>
<p>His confessor nods, pacified. Nicolò’s heart beats faster with shame and fear and.. is it anticipation? Has he really started to look forward to his visions, or to the next time his sword will meet with his enemy’s? Again, he’s drowning. And the worst thing is, he knows that the only person who could understand his struggle is under the same night sky, a few miles away, praying to another God, singing and living with his family and friends, somewhere, dreaming of him.</p>
<p>{That night, Nicolò dreams of the enemy.</p>
<p>“Yusuf!” someone calls him. The enemy, <i>Yusuf</i>, turns away. Nicolò’s heart beats faster, betraying an emotion he can’t define. When he wakes up, he finds himself smiling. }</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm on tumblr as @dickensir, where I post too much about the old guard and too little about anything else, come and say hello if you want!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>